


Personation

by yourcrookedheart



Series: Fanfiction Tropes [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bad Communication, Clones, M/M, Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 21:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14434908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourcrookedheart/pseuds/yourcrookedheart
Summary: There’s a look in Steve’s eyes Bucky has never seen before. Something deep-seated and secretive, when he usually wears his heart on his sleeve. They’re in Caracas, heat and rain mixing together to culminate in a thin layer of perspiration on Bucky’s skin, and Steve’s hand is a heavy weight on his chest.





	Personation

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t believe it took me this long to write a Steve/Bucky fic. It’s not even a properly long one at that, at that, but hopefully entertaining despite its shortness.
> 
> This story is a part of a series of prompts I wrote, centered around fanfic tropes. The trope this was written for is ‘Mirror Mirror: Doppelgangers, Clones and Evil Doubles’.

There’s a look in Steve’s eyes Bucky has never seen before. Something deep-seated and secretive, when he usually wears his heart on his sleeve. They’re in Caracas, heat and rain mixing together to culminate in a thin layer of perspiration on Bucky’s skin, and Steve’s hand is a heavy weight on his chest.

“Did we get all of them?” Bucky asks, glancing past Steve to identify any moving targets through the sheet of rain.

Steve doesn’t shift. He’s unnaturally still, barely even blinking away the drops of rain clinging to his eyelashes. “I already took care of it. Doctor Archambeau won’t bother us again.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, uncertainly. He trusts Steve, with his life, but he’s seen Archambeau rise from the dead about four times by now and he’s gonna need some more reassurance than that. “How’d you manage it?”

“Turned his own heat-ray on him. He burned to ashes right in front of me.”

“That’d do it.”

The hand on Bucky’s chest slides lower, past the buckles of his uniform. Rain droplets are slipping into the gap between Bucky’s suit and his skin and his hair is plastered to his face, and Steve seems to suddenly have lost the concept of personal space. It’s weird, but not the weirdest thing that has happened to Bucky, until Steve’s hand trails up and into his wet hair.

It takes him a while to realize the look on Steve’s face is predatory.

Takes him long enough that he doesn’t move away when Steve’s thumb skims past his cheek to rest on his lower lip.

“Uh… Steve?” It’s hard to speak with Steve’s fingers resting there and Bucky’s own heart in his throat. If he licks his lips now, he’ll be able to touch Steve’s thumb.   
This is nothing he’s trained for. Sam’s somewhere near, trailing the perimeter, and any moment now Bucky’s comm will crackle to life with some wisecracking comment, and they’ll head back to the jet. But Bucky’s comm remains dormant, and Bucky can’t escape that ravening gaze.

Steve tastes like rain and metal, his kisses bold enough to make Bucky jealous of whoever taught him this. Nails dig into the skin of his neck, painful but only spurring him on. He wishes their suits were easier to divest of. He wishes they weren’t wearing suits.

For now this will have to do, hot, desperate kisses and Steve’s arm wound around Bucky’s neck, pressing them ever closer until not even the rain can pass between their bodies. It’s so much like Bucky’s fantasies, elated embraces after a successful mission, that he wonders for one bizarre moment if Steve read his mind.

“Bucky?” A voice rings out through the rain. It sounds like Steve, except Steve can’t speak because he’s got his tongue in Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky pulls away from Steve’s captivating lips. The rain obscures most of his vision, but he can see enough to identify the figure standing five feet to his right.

“Steve?” Bucky turns to his front again. There’s Steve, a wolfish grin on his face. Further away, the same Steve, bewildered. “What the hell?”

“Move away from him,” the Steve that hasn’t spent the last minute necking Bucky says, and Bucky’s not sure who he’s addressing, but he has just enough time to stumble back before come-hither Steve crumples to the ground. Where a rose of blood should bloom, electric sparks leap from his body. There’s a crackling noise, the predatory gaze turning blank, static appearing like a film over his eyes, and then silence.

Steve approaches. “Archambeau had them locked in his basement, one for each of the Avengers. I disabled the others but this one got away.” His voice is flat, betraying no emotion. Bucky wishes he’d look his way.

“And Archambeau?”

“Dead. Properly, this time.”

“Ah , that’s — good, I mean.” Bucky stumbles over the words until he’s saved by Sam’s voice sounding startlingly loud over the comm, the noise of wind and rain in the background as Steve reports all hostiles are taken care of. Not-Steve lies between them, skin pallid and synthetically smooth now that the animated seduction has disappeared from his face. Streams of water gather in his opened mouth, and Bucky has to direct his gaze away.

The walk to the jet happens in silence. Steve doesn’t look at Bucky once, not even when they board the plane and Sam high fives them both, and that’s just fine, really. Bucky estimates another few days where they’ll avoid each other, and then things will get back to normal, or what passes for it in their world. They’ll add this incident to the mountain of things the two of them don’t talk about, and that’s fine as well.

Bucky tells himself that as long as he repeats that, he might one day believe it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://queennsansa.tumblr.com/).


End file.
